His Butler: Famished
by Aservis Roturier
Summary: It's extremely difficult, working on an empty stomach. Absolutely everything smells like food. T for demonic hijinks and messy eating habits. "Sebastian, really!"(Contains OC 'love interest' who doesn't count for much as she gets eaten rapidly.) It's a bit SebaCiel, yeah a bit. Around the edges. Okay I lied there's none of that but there IS plenty of 'Frisky Demon Behaving Badly."
1. Chapter 1

His Butler: Famished

I

Running on Empty

"Oi! Listen to me when I'm talking, will you!?" the boy seated behind the massive mahogany desk barked, pounding a fist on the desktop and glaring up at the dark butler looming over him. The servant seemed a bit dazed.

"My apologies, young Master, I was distracted. Could you repeat?"

There were few things Ciel Phantomhive resented more than not being properly and respectfully attended to when he was speaking. It ranked right up there with being underestimated because of his age and size. Repeating himself was also far from a favourite hobby.

"Sebastian, exactly _what_ is _wrong_ with you? Do I need to get myself a cricket bat for your shins to make certain I've got your attention before I start speaking?"

The demon sighed and slumped a fraction. He couldn't blame the boy. At the same time he couldn't very well tell him he'd been suddenly captivated by the vein currently pulsing so visibly in the boy's neck, that his mind was completely kidnapped and dragged off by thoughts of the rich red ichor temptingly coursing just beneath his paper-thin skin, skin he could so easily... damn it!...nor could he explain about the soul-fragrance wafting teasingly upon the young earl's breath, enveloping the demon in temptation with every furious word flying from the boy's mouth. It was setting Sebastian's mouth to watering so hard he was nearly choking on it. Fighting it back was reminding him of potent and filthy curses in languages he hadn't uttered in centuries.

Nor did he think it might be either helpful or wise to inform the boy that with every day that passed, behaving normally-like a normal human, that is- around the young master was getting more and more difficult, setting off stronger and stronger cascades of hunger and an the insistent urge to relax into his proper shape, shed his elegant but restrictive butler persona, spread his wings, flex his claws and pounce on something. He could hardly tell the young earl the reason he seemed so distracted was he was fighting the urge to simply give in to his true nature, leap on the boy, scarf down that delectable soul like a choice bonbon and scarper.

Brave and jaded as the young earl was, Sebastian felt certain the Phantomhive was not yet ready to face his butler's true form, especially not when he was practically ravening, gripped so savagely by a hunger so fierce and implacable he'd nearly gone feral with it three times in the last two days alone.

_Sweet Tartarus, this bloody contract is taking_ _for__**ever**__... _

He needed a solution, some course of action to ease this terrible, grinding emptiness gripping him. It was all his mind seemed able to hold onto lately. He feared the boy was going to lose patience and order him to tell him what was really amiss. He didn't like to think where that conversation might lead. It was law: you did not hunt for souls when in a contract. But demons were hardly the law-abiding may toe the line if it suited their current purposes, but at bottom no demon really gave a fig for rules.

He was going hunting, damn it. Let anyone who liked try and stop him.

The boy frowned, fuming. He'd finally finished giving the butler his orders for the day. Privately he wondered how much of it had penetrated the fog Sebastian seemed to be in. The faltering demon turned and without even his customary act of fealty, he literally fled the Phantomhive presence, fearful of what the result would be if he lingered longer.

The young earl was having issues with Funtom ltd. again. He'd given the demon butler (and part-time henchman) an assignment that involved travelling north to Saford, just outside Manchester, to one of his Lordships soft toy assembly shops. The demon was only too thankful to go. Not only because it put distance between himself and his little master, but because Manchester contained one of his favourite hunting grounds and he was eager to get to it.

But first, the Funtom issue...


	2. Chapter 2

II

Salford Kiss*

Sebastian arrived at the Salford Funtom factory on the outskirts of Manchester in the late afternoon. It was in a fairly grim looking neighbourhood full of factories and warehouses. After appropriating the current head manager's office for his investigative 'interviews' and kicking the devious bastard out on his lecherous, larcenous arse, Sebastian spread himself a bit. He'd thoroughly enjoyed turning the head manager out to wait like any other employee for his unannounced 'evaluation' of the way the factory was being run.

He would let the fellow stew in his own sweat for a few hours, worrying whether or not the owner of the factory actually already knew what sorts of things he'd been getting up to or not. Since he was one of the three managers Sebastian was there to punish and then make redundant, the demon judged his behaviour was totally justified and part of his master's orders. And it was ... sort of.

Typically Ciel gave the demon plenty of leeway in how he interpreted such evaluative/investigative orders. "Go find out if what I'm hearing is true and if it is, do something about it." is the way his orders were usually worded and this time was no different. Sometimes he asked if he'd had to kill anybody or as a joke asked where he'd hid the bodies. Usually the demon just laughed, but once or twice he'd had a different answer all together that made the boy sorry he'd asked.

The Butler took off his coat and ordered the pretty little seamstress the manager had appropriated from the shop floor as his 'personal assistant' to go make him a pot of tea and bring a couple cups(it was really going to be for her). She was just one of the unauthorized moves rumour had it that the head manager and his two cronies had got up to in their imagined isolation here 'oop north', so far from London and the owner, his lordship's, eyes. The handsome butler and the little former tweeny** had a nice little chat about exactly what her 'new job' actually involved. She was very nervous, terrified she was somehow going to be held accountable for the behaviour the manager had in fact blackmailed her into and seemed close to genuine collapse until Sebastian assured her it was the manager who was in trouble, not her.

The savage smile on her face as she strutted out of the appropriated head manager's office and locked eyes with her former boss was truly priceless, almost as good as watching the blood drain out of the boss's face as he watched her flounce back to her old sewing machine as she made a great show of resuming the piecework# she'd originally been hired for.

Sebastian got so little opportunity to really express his naturally demonic inclinations, he really cherished these little business excursions. He fully intended on cutting loose and 'letting the demon out to play' up here in the Salford factory. He then planned to evoke his ability to manipulate and obliterate human memories to his own advantage so the worst of his behaviour would not be remembered-by *most* of the workers. However, he meant to ensure this day would be one hell of an 'inspection' for the three suspected managers, who had been fiddling the books, helping themselves to the profits and treating the factory girls as their own private stable of prostitutes, would be a day they'd relive in their nightmares for the rest of their lives.

It was already been near dark by the time he'd finished terrorising (and just for the pure hell of it, buggering senseless) the three corrupt shop managers. Their worst sin, in Ciel's eyes, had been pressuring the women on the shop floor into publicly performing all sorts of lewed and humiliating sex acts in return for hiring and retaining them as employees. It seemed merely the just, sensible (and of course thoroughly demonic) thing to do to give them a taste of their own medicine before he booted all three of them out of the building, naked, awash in scalding demon seed and completely bereft of any memory of who they even were.

He then appointed two quivering and far less troublesome replacements, the two men who had essentially been bullied into performing the work the three managers should have been doing while they were busy grabbing it up with the helpless female workers in their direct employ. The two men had already proven they could do the jobs so he gave them the titles and the salaries that went with them as well. Then he took his leave to the sound of the entire shop floor cheering for him. They had only a vague impressions of what had actually transpired thanks to him scrambling their collective recall, but they got clear the important points: the horrible men who'd been taking advantage of them had all been thoroughly shamed, treated to a taste of their own medicine and best of all, were not coming back, ever again. And the tall, dark haired man who had come up from London as representative of the owner, their young Lord Phantomhive, (and who was so handsome he was almost pretty) was the one responsible for their liberation.

Just at the door, as he was slipping into his coat, his arm was caught by a dark beauty who pressed against him and whispered her gratitude in musical Hindi 'to the pure, white incarnation of my lord Krishna' before stroking his thighs suggestively, then grinding hard against him, giving him a deliberately arousing kiss of pure gratitude.

How delightfully depraved; how personally satisfying! The only problem was at that moment his lust could not begin to compete with his animal hunger. He did decide Salford was his sort of place and he really should visit more often. But now, on to satisfying more urgent, more basic appetites.

* a 'Salford Kiss' is actually a head-butt (ye-eah...it's a really rough neighbourhood, see.)like Grell gave Sebastian when they were reciting Shakespeare whilst running over the rooftops of Whitechapel together. But Sebastian gets a saucy buss from the grateful Hindi woman there too, so I figured nobody would mind if I played fast and loose with the meaning for my title.

** A Tweeny is a maid that works in very _very_ large houses and is a sort of floating worker who can be used by any of the three main head servants: by the butler, cook and housekeeper (not all houses had all three, often the cook was the housekeeper too.) She also works in the kitchen serving the servant's hall like the servants deemed more experienced and easy on the eyes serve the family 'upstairs'. A tweeny's often the first to go when money gets tight and they got phased out as the years went by and more conveniences were invented (like washing machines). Her lot could also be a miserable one if-as often happened-the three main servants: butler,cook and housekeeper, didn't get along and/or argue over her use and time.

# Piecework means instead of being paid a set salary, a worker would be paid a few pence per piece they produced, and each girl typically only sewed a single seam or dart and handed it on to the next worker, in assembly-line fashion. So it was in their interest to sew as fast as possible, producing many pieces. But working fast around such machines could lead to dreadful industrial accidents. In a typical factory (or 'sweatshop' if the conditions were particularly bad) the electric industrial sewing machines never stopped once plugged in, had only one speed (ridiculously fast) and were notorious for stitching the girls' fingers to their work.


	3. Chapter 3: Strange Ways

III

Strange Ways

Salford and its environs, the site of so much unplanned urbanisation earlier in the century thanks to 'King Cotton" had, most recently, sacrificed yet one more small parcel of green to the need of a new prison. The bleak and peculiarly shaped red brick building was officially known as "Her Majesty's prison: Manchester," but was it was universally called 'Strangeways' after the park over which it had been built.

It always made him laugh, that name. What had once been a simple, descriptive Anglo-Saxon place-name had been twisted and tickled up into the current peculiar title which bore little resemblance to the original. The English had a true genius for it—it was one of the quirky aspects of this little island and its' peoples that kept drawing him back.

The demon landed light as a featther on the high catwalk 'round the tall ventilation tower within the complex, metal heels clicking sharply on the concrete and kicking up tiny sparks of hellfire as he skidded slightly to a stop. He stilled and closed his eyes. Soon even his perennial twisted smirk slipped away as he focussed, listening carefully to all the miserable cries arising from the grim, brick prison—one of the few in England to have a permanent gallows.

He listened particularly to the women. By experience he knew they were the most abused and taken advantage of, hence the most bitter and despairing. He would more likely find a tainted soul longing for solace and a quick release amongst them—it was always best to get a little co-operation in these matters when you were in a hurry. Had he been in the mood for something more violent, spoiling for a little fight maybe he'd have listened in on the men instead, but the Hindi woman had stirred his appetite for something a little softer and yielding. Willing.

After a bit, one voice distinguished itself. In fact, it sounded as though she might be immersed in the act of trying to kill herself even as he stood there poised on the balls of his feet, listening to her. He quickly made himself less than corporeal and honed in on the furious, despairing voice. My, but he did like them furious and helpless...

It had been full dark by the time he'd settled down on the prison ventilation tower, so once inside the prison cell proper, he found it a delightfully uncompromising solid black. So, no need for a constricting disguise. He could come and go in his own skin—a distinct plus. As predicted, he found her standing by the tiny barred window, furiously sawing away at her wrists, dragging them forcefully over the freshly chipped edge of the stone window sill and sending up a delicious reek of torn and heated flesh. His mind flew back momentarily to the stone tools the humans used to make and use and their deadly sharpness and he was momentarily impressed with her ingenuity. His eyes easily made out in the murk: she was small and rather frail-looking little thing, reminding him of his young master. Small and weak but radiating such delicious fury, seemingly strong enough to scorch the earth for miles around. Even if he'd been blind he could've found her in complete darkness by the heat of her emotions, the scent of her tears and her blood, and by her furious sobbing.

He had listened to her thoughts and gathered enough of her history to know there were sins aplenty to feed on here, as well as a fierce anger over being in this place, apparently about to die for something she hadn't done. Not that she hadn't done things in her life that merited death by human judicial standards, she had and she acknowledged it—to herself within her own thoughts at least. She was angry over the injustice of dying for another's misdeeds. Angry enough to cheat the hangman if she could, hence the chipping and sawing. Rather clever of her, he thought, to chip and sharpen the stone. He wondered what she'd used. She certainly was a determined one.

"There's an easier way, Sally," he said as gently as he could.

She screamed.

Of course. All these conversations seemed to start with a scream. Usually ended with one as well. The demon had learned to look forward to the sound. So much so, he'd come to regard them as demonic dinner bells. They screamed and threw themselves into the furthest corner from his voice, no matter how gentle and seductive he made it.

At first, anyway... he reckoned if he couldn't talk them out of that corner and come willingly to him he was losing his touch.

So she was no different that way at least. She shrieked, not knowing if some guard had come to assault or abuse her in her final hours, or if the devil himself had come to call. It actually _was_ the latter of course, but he would explain soon enough.

Sally had wedged herself between the back of the bed and the furthest corner, hugging her shredded wrists to her tiny breasts, gasping in fear, her face lost in a cloud of dark, disordered hair. "Leave me alone!" she shouted into the inky darkness. By her expression and the direction of her eyes he could tell she had only a vague idea where he was. He knelt down before her a good 5 or 6 feet away and made no effort to touch or draw any closer. He would get her to come to him or find another. He wasn't in the mood to force himself on anyone. He'd been demonic enough earlier. He was going to play the angel now. A dark one, admittedly, but an angel of mercy nonetheless.

"Please don't be frightened Sally. I've actually come to help you."

"What?" a tiny, quivering voice asked. "Help me what!"

"What you were doing. I can give you a way out that will cheat the hangman and the devil, and it will be painless—well, painless compared to sawing your wrists open on that stone. You'd prefer that wouldn't you?"

"Wot I'd 'prefer' is to get the hell out of this shithole. Can you do that?"

"Well, yes, but only in a manner of speaking. You have three options as I see it. Your time on earth is up, Sally. You may not know it but there are lists kept and those whose business it is are sent out to collect the souls of those meant to die. They have you down for the coming morning," he extrapolated, obviously not privy to the Reapers' books, but it sounded convincing enough. "I suppose that means eventually you'll give up on the stone idea as too painful or taking too long."

"S'why I was cryin' so hard when you popped up," she confessed, "I'd about given up. Weren't workin' fast enough and hurt a lot more'n I thought t'would," she admitted. She'd become conversational and trusting quite rapidly, hadn't she? An interesting creature, this Sally Bowyer. He almost regretted being in a contract for a moment. He got over it.

"Just so: you can see it is inevitable: you will die in the next few hours one way or the other. You can wait for them to come collect you at dawn, you can go back to what you were doing and hope to do enough damage before the hangman comes to collect you—and may I say from experience you may be reduced to using your teeth if you really mean to die before they come to get you in the morning, or—'

"Wot? Eee, that's 'orrible!"

"Yes, I quite agree. Oryou can choose to trust me and permit me help you. I am able to slip your soul from your mortal body so gently you'll hardly feel it Sally, with nothing more alarming than a simple kiss, and you will depart into a state of non-existence where you will be safe and no one will ever harass or trick you again. There'll be no hell, no judgement and no hangman for you. Just a kiss my dear, and you will know nothing more than sweet, soft darkness embracing you. No more bars or prisons, no more filth or insects, no more randy jailers and no more paying for someone else's sins."

"Wha— 'ow did you ...'ere now: just who an what are you!"

"Forgive me my dear, didn't I introduce myself? I'm an angel of mercy, Sally. Listen and you'll hear my wings."

It was a cheesy line he'd stumbled onto a few decades earlier and been surprised how well it worked on sad, desperate women longing for release. He gave his massive (currently invisible) wings a shivery snap, settling all the feathers back into their proper alignments. Squirming into tight places like these prison cells in full-on demon form was always hard on his pinions and he'd been itchy and dying to give them a good shaking ever since he'd popped into her cell but he'd been saving it for this moment.

He knew she could not see him but she heard the unmistakeable sound of rustling feathers. It almost always had a near-magical, calming effect: she pushed herself up off the floor and stepped away from the wall on quivering legs and reached for him. Surely nothing with angel wings could be something to fear...right? She reached out a trembling hand, redolent of stone dust, old sweat, fear, tears and blood-delicious. He breathed deeply and noted the scent of her fear was lessening. Time to pour on the seduction pheromones. He closed his eyes and concentrated, sending the scent swirling around the tiny cell with another quick pulse of his wings, pulling them tight against his body.

She let go a soft sigh and touched his hand which he'd extended to her, gloves long gone for now. A warm, gentle human-like touch went a long way toward calming fears, instilling confidence and inspiring misplaced trust.

"You can really do all that, what you said about no pain an' all?"

He took her hand and kissed the back of it, then turned it over and trailed his tongue over the ragged abrasions on her wrist and palm, soothing the friction wounds and sneaking a taste. Complex, excellent.

"It is quite a simple thing really. But very few are brave enough to take advantage of it. It's not a trusting world any more, Sally. I have to work quite hard to find a smart girl like you." He wondered of he'd oversold it with those words. His answer was quick and unmistakeable. She pulled back her hands with a jerk, reminded of the way the world works, probably by his uttering the word 'trusting'. He would have to evolve with the times, rethink what words he used in such situations. These decadent days being called 'trusting' was an insult.

"Oi." A rude noise, full of suspicion. "An' wot _d'you_ get out of this, eh? Nobody does shite for free in this world. Why should you do this for me? I been no angel in my life, y'know. St. Peter won't be keepin' an eye out for me at the gate tomorra." She laughed a rich, corrupt chuckle brimming with knowledge of the darkest of sins. The demon felt a frisson born of eager anticipation shiver its way up and down his spine as her soul-tainted breath wafted over him. It was foul with bad teeth but oh, the soul underneath that!

"O yes, I know. You did not do _this_ murder, but you are no stranger to it. I can tell, you see..." he smiled and took a cautious breath because revealing these things could cut either way. True knowledge of why he was there terrified some but with others, it eased their worries. In his conversation with her so far his impression was that the truth would soothe her. "You see I was created to be rewarded for doing my job relieving souls like yours Sally, taking on your soul strengthens me as it relieves you, so we both benefit." Well it wasn't a lie, but he had rather put a bow on it and shined it up a bit.

At any rate she deserved to know so... "So we will be helping each other, Sally. I will give you a painless exit and in return what you will give me will lend me strength," _by letting me rip out your soul and eat it, his _thought chuckled darkly at the private joke. He wondered briefly if any of his brethren were listening in tonight. Such places of misery and death often attracted them in clouds—of course they'd have scattered as they felt him approaching. Even in Hell he was a massively powerful demon. If any of the lesser devi were hovering and observing tonight, he would show them how it was done, he thought proudly. He felt the small tremor run through her as he said "I hate to rush you dear, but if you do not wish to accept this mercy I must needs go and find someone who will. We both have limited time. If you want to avoid that broken neck tomorrow you need to get busy on those wrists, my dear." Then he stepped back from her: one step, two steps, finessing the pressure.

Finally she rushed forward, throwing her arms around him. "Don't go. It's fine. Your way sounds fine to me," she said, suddenly sucking in a quick breath, as soon as she felt him under her hands. She looked down in the dark and started to run her hands over her dark angel in awe. What had she captured here? "Cor, darlin'. Wish I'd a seen you properly in the light, I do!" she said, channelling Maylene for a moment. He had to stop her roving hands or else he'd completely blow his carefully constructed 'Angel of Mercy' image with an abruptly stiffening member prodding her in the belly_. That wouldn't be very angelic! Of course anyone who'd met Ash/Angela might beg to differ..._

He laughed as he held her a little bit away from him and caressed her cheek and hair. She wasn't the cleanest and her hair felt like it hadn't seen a comb in months, but it was the throb of life deep inside her he was interested in so he played along. "O dearie me..." She muttered, half turning from him as she ran a hand over her hair self consciously, clearly wishing she'd encountered what she imagined was a handsome man under more favourable circumstances.

"It's fine," he whispered."In the dark you can imagine I am whoever you long for,"he whispered, hoping to finesse her emotions toward something a little less frisky and more wistful. He began kissing her chin, across her jaw, eventually fetching up at her ear. "Who do you long for Sally? Is there a special someone you wish you could've say goodbye to?" Moved to a touch of pity, he'd been thinking of offering her an illusion to ease the way. He could manipulate her thoughts and memories to orchestrate a last goodbye, a loved one's final embrace. He could make her see anyone he found in her memories. But he could feel at once that his words stirred no memory for her.

She loosed a shivery little sound between a sigh and a sob as she caressed his forearm. "Pair o' strong arms like yourn woulda been right welcome in my life, but no, I never once had a man I could trust, not even me Da. If I had I'd a never fetched up in this hellhole."

"Well, have them now, Sally." He said, and having got control of his own body he held hers a little tighter.

"Thank you. Whatever the hell you are, yer a lot more 'uman than many a man I've known in my life," she said as she willingly reached up and pressed her lips to his.

_Yes, now open to me... _He kissed her back softly, then with increasing fervour, then brought his hands up, one behind her head and one to the centre of her back just underneath her shoulder blades to ensure she didn't pull away when she started to feel the pull. And the pain.

Then with lips and tongue and pressure and pheromones all working together he urged her to let him into her mouth. _Open, yield to me..._

She had just slipped one hand into his hair and the other was sliding down the long primaries of one wing in a gentle caress when he reached his goal. He felt her eyes fly open and her body jerk in surprise—there was the inevitable sharp, shocking sting it was always better not to mention, and then, nothing. Nothing else but a gentle, melting capitulation. As the last wisps of life were drawn out of her she let go and hung limply in his arms. He sucked her tongue into his mouth and bit down hard, knowing she was beyond feeling it now. He wanted to ensure he took as much sustenance from the woman as possible: the more strength he garnered here, the longer his master would be kept safe when he was the butler once again.

He left her laid out on the miserable little prison cot and covered her with the thin, louse-ridden blanket, smoothing a hand over her hair a moment, arranging it over her shoulder, thinking of the life he'd seen in her as he'd taken her soul into himself. He liked to at least think of them with honour, the ones who sustained him, even if only for a moment. It was paltry thanks, but still, he felt compelled to offer it—he supposed he was a funny sort of devil that way...

Then he turned and quickly stepped into a black blur of nothingness.


	4. Chapter 4 Nearest and Dearest

IV

"So: three fired, and two new managers added in their place, is that right? Two experienced workers given advancement from within the ranks and one girl returned to the regular work force. And you feel confident these two new managers will prove more trustworthy and be able to handle the work without abusing the other workers or scarpering with the petty cash like their predecessors?"

"They had been faithfully doing the work already, my lord, without being given any title or due compensation for it, so yes. They should prove very grateful for their advancement. Also, they saw the discipline and firing of the other managers who _had_ been abusing their positions, so I feel confident they will realise it is in their best interest to give Funtom their loyalty and best efforts, relying on you to care for their interests as faithfully as they serve you, my lord." Sebastian had reported all this with a fairly sober mien until he got to that last bit when the wicked smirk seemed to burst through. He licked his lips savouring the memory of those three managers' 'discipline'. The boy certainly didn't envy the three men having come down on the wrong side of his butler.

The creepy leer was in no way lost on the boy. "You're... not going to tell me what you did to them, are you."

"Why, whatever do you mean my lord?" The dark, vicious grin on the demon's lips stretched to disturbing proportions. "I disciplined them and fired them, just as you directed, my lord."

"Hmph, thought so."Ciel said, muttering _damned demon,_ under his breath. "Anyway, I'm glad that's all over and done with. This manager nonsense has been interfering with my sleep for far too long!" He scooped up and stacked the pertinent papers from his desk, slipping them quickly into a folder and then into the dark depths of the big desk's locked drawer, fastening it securely after having replaced the false bottom with a tired sigh . Then he stood up and stretched, reaching for the ceiling, bending backwards and dropping his head back. When he stood back up Sebastian was quick to come straighten his collar and smooth away several non-existent wrinkles. Eventually the boy batted his hands away and said "I'm done for today, Sebastian. Prepare a milky chamomile with honey and something sweet, and bring them up to my bedroom straight away. I want to make an early night of it for once. I'll worry about baths and the rest of this Funtom nonsense tomorrow."

"Understood, sir" said the dark butler with an easy, cheerful smile.

"Hmm," the boy intoned, looking his butler up and down. "I notice you're having less of a problem focusing and paying attention to my words when I give you direction, now. I find it a distinct improvement, I must say. You seem quite relaxed and focused. "

The butler breathed in deeply and let go a rather contented-sounding sigh. At the same time, Ciel noticed a sudden far-away look in his eyes. "Indeed, my lord, I quite agree. I must say I found the change of scenery...quite stimulating and most refreshing."

"Huh," the boy barked out a sharp, soft little noise of sarcasm, looked up and grinned crookedly at his most dangerous servant. "I _really_ don't care, Sebastian. You know that, don't you?"

"Sorry?" the faux butler inquired with his best, most angelic expression. "I'm afraid I don't quite—"

"Don't feign innocence with me, demon. I know you better than that. I'm telling you do whatever you need to do to maintain your edge, alright? I can't have you acting the way you were acting before you left. It might cost me my life one day-or yours! So consider this an order: do whatever you must to remain sharp and able to focus on our work. I'm relying on your aesthetics not to take advantage of this open-ended command, Sebastian: do _not_ make me regret trusting you like this. Whatever it is you're getting up to, take care to cover your tracks and... and try not to piss off the death gods! I don't want another one planting a death scythe in your chest again. You're..." the boy's voice faltered uncharacteristically. "You're not much use to me after they've been putting ventilation holes in that carcass of yours you know!" he trailed off, turning his back on the demon.

Sebastian smiled quite an un-devilish smile at the boy and when he turned back around, gave him his very best bow of fealty. It would seem as though his little master had actually been quite worried about his pet demon while he was off behaving badly in Salford. Sebastian felt a queer little flutter in his chest at the thought of someone worrying over him that way, as if he'd swallowed a hummingbird or something: very odd indeed.

"My master is wise beyond his years and wonderfully magnanimous."

"Yes well I...I don't care to know the details, but I do know what you are. I do realise it's probably too much to ask for you to keep up this human guise endlessly, so... just so long as you return to me fighting fit and ready for work the next day, it's all fine with me."

"Yes sir."

"Just ... addle their brains... or make certain to bury the bodies where they'll never be found, or eat the evidence or _whatever_ it is you normally do to cover your tracks! I just don't want Her Majesty to end up sending us out to investigate ourselves some day. Carry on as you have done. Be canny and careful. Understood?" They exchanged dark, knowing looks and the servant smiled broadly: a smile full of dangerous, sharp-looking teeth and somehow terrifying good humour. The earl suppressed the shiver that ran through his frame.

"O yes, my lord," the butler intoned with a bow and a heart full of joy. "Understood."


End file.
